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PREFACE. 

It's not the mountain peaks I seek 

But the valleys green with their flowers sweet. 

It's not the eagle but the dove I would send to bear 
my message of love. 

For in his flight so wild and free he might forget 
my message to thee. 

But the dove with its nature faithful and true will 
bear my loving message to you. 

Dedicated to my family and friends and the ever- 
green hills of Oregon. 

Mrs. Nora Armstrong. 

Portland, Oregon, 



Copyright 1910. 



Press of Bulletin* Publishing Company, Portland, Ore. 



©CI. A 25 




IF I WERE THE EARTH AND YOU WERE 

THE SUN. 



F I were the earth and you the sun, 
We would woo and wed together, 
And unto royal heirs give birth, 
Forever and forever. 



If I were the spring and you were the showers, 

We w r ould wed and woo from heaven such flowers 

As never angel hands could bring, 

If I were the showers and you were the spring. 

If I were the field and you were the grain, 

How gladly we would grow; 
And oh, what abundance we would yield 

To all who plant and sow. 



If I were the earth, the sea and sky, 

And you a beautiful tree, 
How rich and rare and sweet 

The fruits would grow, for you and me. 



And so through all the kingdom wherever we met as 
one, 
I the beautiful broad green earth, and you the glori- 
ous sun, 

How rich would be the harvest of flowers, and fruit, 
and grain, 
Bringing the Garden of Eden and joy back to man 
again, 

Filling all life with gladness, blending all souls as one, 

If I were the broad green earth, and you the glorious 
sun. 



THE SECOND BIRTH. 

Long years ago when I was young and innocent as a 

dream, 
A wealth of flowers seemed on my brow and colored 

every scene. 
Far down the beautiful valley of time and all of hope 

and joy was mine. 
And when a thorn lay in my path, I knew its sting 

could never last 
As long as the fragrance of the flower 
That bloomed for me in youth's bright bower. 

But tho' sweet hope was kind to me, 

My bark was drifting o'er life's sea 

And I knew no quiet haven of rest 

Where peace could hold full sway in my breast. 

Until I received a second birth and then a light on my 

vision burst. 
Brighter far than the rosy scene 
Viewed by me in youth's bright dream. 
For it did not contain just my lover and me 
But was broad as the universe and deep as the sea. 
And now when the waves roll mountain high, 
The Father's face reflects from the sky. 
And when they gently roll at my feet, 
I hear the sound of voices sweet, 
And I know the words that are wafted to me 
Across the waves of the rolling sea 
Are sweeter by far than those of earth, 
I heard before my spirit birth. 
For they speak of a life eternal and grand. 
Progressing for aye in the summer land, 
Where the perfect love that rounds out the soul 
The reality of a dream doth hold. 
And here and now we can feel the joy 
Of the hopes of youth beyond the sky 
That are renewed at the second birth, 
And flood with sunshine all the earth, 
And fill the heart, the soul and mind 
With a tender love for all mankind, 
Which is played upon, like the lofty trees 



Are played upon by the passing breeze. 

And caused it to whisper soft and low, 

To the buds that burst and the flowers that grow, 

"Receive, receive, from the world on high, 

From the gentle breezes passing by, 

To the earth beneath and the sky above, 

For all is sent in the name of love." 



MY INVISIBLE TEACHER. 

Oh guide my bark I pray thee 
Across life's storm tossed sea 

For somehow I fall to drifting 
When the guiding is left to me. 

And then a fear comes o'er me 
When the storm clouds gather fast 

That if I do the guiding 
My barque will go down at last. 

And I ask in the name of the darkest wave 
Thy guiding hand my barque will save 

And bring me into a heaven of peace 
Where I may sit down to a heavenly feast. 

And know that the love 
That guided me here 

Is the love 
That casteth out all fear. 

.And the waves that wash 
The sun-kissed shore 

Will drive my barque 
On the rocks no more. 

Then I can throw out the life line 
To ones on the storm-tossed waves 

And may through love and patience 
Lend a hand to save. 



TO THOSE IN SORROW. 

I, too, have had sorrow, but glimpses of light 

Would flash through the darkness like star gems at 

night, 
And out of a rift in the clouds I could see 
The faces of angels smiling at me. 

And when I was silent I knew I could hear 

Their sweet words of comfort, of courage and cheer, 

That lifted me up when I fain would lie down 

In anguish and grief with my face on the ground. 

And when all my sorrow was carried away 

I could see precious flowers on the ground where I 

lay. 
And the fields that in winter were barren and bleak 
Are now filled with promise that makes life 

complete. 



WHAT ARE WORDS f 

What are words, and where do they start? 

Do they come from the self-same place in the heart? 

Some are so gentle, low and sweet, 

Like fragrant flowers that bloom at your feet; 

And their sweetness wreathes your lips with a smile 
That shortens the length of the wary mile; 
And you cherish them in your heart like a gem, 
And you long to hear them over again. 

But some of our thoughts, when put into words, 
Cut into the heart like a two-edged sword, 
And you shrink away with deep surprise, 
Till the teardrops rise and fill your eyes; 

And your heart seems crushed, bleeding and sore, 
While you hear their harshness o'er and o'er, 



As your eyes grow dim and )'ou cannot see; 
It may be a friend that is speaking to thee. 

That has not learned just how to unfold 

And speak the language of the soul, 

That is ever gentle, true and sweet, 

Like the fragrant flowers that bloom at our feet. 

To give us comfort when life seems sad, 
And help you forget the words that were said, 
And make you know that perfect love 
Is gentle as the voice of a dove. 

And soothing as the summer breeze 
That floats away among the trees, 
Cooling the heat of the mid-day sun, 
Bringing sweet rest to everyone. 



THEY SAY I WAS ONCE A PRINCESS. 



Yes, I must have been a Princess 

In the ages long gone by, 
For a scene of royal splendor 

Oft times floats before my eye. 

For I feel the robe upon me 

And the crown upon my head, 

And see the light around me 
By the flashing jewels shed. 

As I sit in royal grandeur, 

While the couriers around me stand, 
And list to catch my slightest word 

And heed my every command. 

And thus the life around me 
Was to take and never give, 

And in that cramped surrounding 
All my earthly days I lived. 



And when my reign was over 
And they bore my body away, 

To lofty Pyramids of old 

Where kings and princes lay. 

My spirit was but an infant 

In the higher realms above, 
And they taught me as a little child 

My first sweet lessons of love. 

How the heart was the royal palace 
And the soul the ruling power, 

And Love in the Garden of the Gods, 
The only perfect flower. 

All else is but the glitter 

Of earthly pomp and fame, 
And except you carve it out in love, 

Ye will have no lasting name. 

And so with that sweet lesson 

I am back again on Earth, 
Bearing my share of its burdens, 

Content in an humble birth. 

As long as the bright cheeks glowing 

In every land and clime, 
Be fed by the warm blood flowing 

From the same great Fountain as mine. 



A LESSON FROM NATURE. 

(This poem is said to be an account of the last days 
of Robert L. Stevenson.) 

There's an island far out in the ocean 
I dreamed of one night in my sleep, 

Where the blue waves forever are rolling 
Along on the beautiful beach. 



And one day I sailed from the main land 
Far out to that beautiful isle, 
Where the sun kissed the waves in the morning 
And faded at night with a smile. 

Like the bidding adieu of a lover 

Whose absence would last but an hour, 

Then return with a bright smile of greeting 
With all of love's magical power. 

And out on that island of beauty 
I made me a home on its breast; 

And I thought that of all God's kingdom 
This isle was the fairest and best. 

And there I lived hours in the sunshine, 
Watching the waves on the beach, 

Knowing that every bright ripple 
Some precious lesson could teach. 

And I prayed that some power from heaven 
Would teach me to read as I run, 

And write down some lesson from Nature 
I learned from the waves and the sun. 

And there on that beautiful island, 
Far out from the dark haunts of men, 

I learned to commune with the angels 

And write down their words with my pen. 

And the world knows well the story 

Of Robert Louis Stevenson, 
Who lived far out in the ocean 

And an author's laurels won. 

Who longed ofttimes in the twilight, 
In his own native birth-place to be, 

Yet could not remain in the body, 
Except on that isle in the sea. 

So health that one ever is seeking, 
li he has not that jewel of his own, 

Let me out to that beautiful island 
Away from my own native home. 



And there in the sound of the billows 

When earth life was ebbing away, 
I saw a bright vision of heaven, 

And heard all the songs that they play. 

And their notes were the same as the robin, 
Caught up from the musical spheres, 

And rolled out upon life's broad billows 
Throughout all eternity's years. 

And I asked of the angels in heaven, 

If they had any lesson for me, 
That I could not glean out of the sunbeams 

And out of the waves of the sea. 

And they answered : "Just Nature's our teacher. 

No matter how high you may go, 
It's the same that teaches the robin, 

And no other the Archangels know." 



THE SYMBOL OF THE SUN. 

Far down o'er the sloping hillside, 
And out o'er the mountain crest, 

The sun, in all its glory, 
Has silently sunk to rest. 

And its beams, still red and golden, 

Light up the western sky, 
And linger along the hilltops, 

Kissing the flowers good-bye. 

And, w T ith the selfsame sunbeams 
That linger and then are gone, 

Is the sky on the other side of the earth 
Lit up with a golden dawn. 



10 



And the eyes that were closed in slumber 

Awake to a newborn day ; 
And the darkness that was around them 

Silently rolled away. 

And thus does the soul awaken 
To the light of the new-born day, 

And thus is the darkness around them 
Silently rolled away. 

And the spirit walks forth in its freedom, 

And views the tinted sky, 
And catches the sound of voices 

Silently saying good-bye, 

And knows as much of its meaning 
As the flowers on the green hillside, 

For not the smallest part of the soul 

Through the darkness and dawn have died, 

But awakes in the fresh, new morning, 

As bright as it was before: 
With the snow-capped waves of the ocean of life 
, Washing the golden shore 

Of times that had no beginning 

And never an ending will know, 
For the soul of man in its upward flight 

Will need all time to grow — 

Will need the beautiful symbol 

Of the sun sinking in the west, 
Marking the dawn to the world beyond, 

Like the sun on the mountain crest. 



As it paints the flowers all golden 
Along on the green hillside; 
So love tints the memory of friends 
Whenever the form has died. 



11 



THE SPIRITUAL ROCK. 

How grand it is to stand alone 

And watch the waves dash their foam 

Wildly upon the ocean beach, 

And know that you stand beyond their reach. 

And thus my friends I feel to-day, 
When the Ocean of life dashes up its spray, 
Of turmoil and strife around my feet 
That I stand on a rock beyond its reach. 

As I lift my eyes to the rising Sun 
And feel that my mission has just begun, 
For the place on which our feet doth stand 
Is a settled rock and not one of sand. 

The waves that are dashing their foam aand spray 
Can never wash this rock away; 
For this rock is Spirit and Spirit alone 
Cannot be reached by the Ocean foam. 

As it cannot be moved by a little spray 

Of the troubles of Earth and be washed away ; 

For Spirit is all there is of Life 

And this knowledge will lift us above Earth's strife. 

And open our souls to the realms above 
Where w T e live in the joys of Truth and Love. 
And Truth walks ever by our side 
As sweet and pure as a new made bride. 

And the Star of Hope, high over the way, 
Shines brighter and brighter for us each day; 
And in that haven along the shore 
We may guide our barks to be tossed no more. 

For he that is conscious that Spirit is Life 
Is lifted above Earth's turmoil and strife; 
.Although the waves roll close to his feet 
He catches sounds of voices sweet. 



12 



And reaching a hand to the ones long gone 
He joins them in their Heavenly song, 
Until its echoes roll far and wide 
And we know that the angels are by our side, 

To give us courage and strength each day 
And love to last us all the way. 
A joyful thought, how firm we can stand 
And reach out to all a helping hand. 

And throw out the Life line upon the wave 

And try some storm-tossed soul to save; 

And bring them into this Haven of Peace, 

Where the Knowledge of Spirit is God's Holy Feast. 



TIME AND L 

Time and I are just as happy 
As two old chums could be, 

For he told me not to worry 
And the truth would set me free, 

He had soothed so many sorrows, 
Dried so many bitter tears 

In the hours and days of practice 
He has had these long, long years, 

I could count upon his presence 

To do as much for me 
If I'd tarry just a moment 

And my blessings try to see. 

Try to feel that he was present 
Every moment of the day; 

And would help my eyes in seeing 
All the flowers along the way, 



13 



All the wonders he was working, 

Not with sickle by his side, 
As the mind of man has pictured 

When some precious one has died, 

But the mowing down of error, 
Weeding out all thought unkind, 

Sowing seeds of love and kindness 
In the heart, the soul, the mind. 

Gathering up the heartstrings broken 
Binding them with golden cord, 

Brought to him in tender mercy 
By the angels of the Lord, 

Then we took a little journey back 

In all the ages past, 
And I found that no great sorrow 

In the mind of man could last. 

For he came and took it from them, 

Planting little seeds of joy 
That would grow when least they dreamed it, 
And would bless them by and by. 



BUTTERFLY COLORS. 

Some people I know think that butterflies gay 

Were made with bright shades since the very first 
day. 

But a secret I've learned from fairyland bright — 
The first butterflies were all perfectly white, 

Till a rainbow exploded one showery day, 

In butterfly fairy land, far, far away. 
And some of the colors arched over the sky, 

Fell down here and there on the white butterfly. 



14 



And ever since then, in color and shade, 

They have carried the colors the rainbow made; 

And they sport in the sunshine, happy and free, 
So all little chidren their bright wings may see. 

And know what was done one sweet summer day, 
In butterfly fairyland, far, far away, 

When a rainbow, in forming an arch o'er the sky, 
Exploded all over the white butterfly. 



MY WEAVING. 

I was touched by the beauty of heaven, 
And wooed by the Spirit of Love; 

To fix my hopes on Eternal things 
In the realm of the Spirit above. 

For we know this life is transient, 
Death' speaks, and we must obey; 

And then we live in the Spirit, 
And not in this house of clay. 

O ! to be true to that knowledge ! 

O! to be strong and brave! 
And cloud not the soul with a habit 

We would blush for beyond the grave. 

For there we're stripped of earth's garment 
And stand in the Spirit's pure light; 

We see and are seen in our glory 
Or in the soul's shadows and blight, 

That is made, O, my brother and sister 
By the life we are living to-day. 

And the garment we are weaving this moment 
Is the garment we'll all wear away. 



15 



And oft time the privilege of weaving 
Comes sweeping in joy o'er my soul, 

And I try to weave only the whitest 
O'f threads into every fold. 

And while that sweet spell is upon me 
I know what I weave is pure white, 

And fit to be worn in my bright spirit home 
In the strongest and clearest of light. 

But what is the color of weaving 

When doubt throws a cloud o'er my mind ; 

And the thoughts that I think are unholy, 
And the deeds I do are unkind? 

And love is just given in portions 
To this one, or that, as I choose, 

Is it then that spots cloud my garments 
And some of its brightness I lose? 

Is it then that I feel all unworthy 

To weave what through time I must wear, 

And know that no matter how dark they may be, 
The spots on my robe I must bear? 

Then in love I pity my weaving, 

And in love I try to do right; 
Helo other souls with the knowledge 

To weave all their garments pure white. 



THE CALM IN MY SOUL. 



There are times when I'm lonely, 
And times when I'm sad, 

There are times when I'm happy 
And joyful and glad. 

But the times I love most 
Are the times I am calm 

As a fresh, rosy morn 

At the first hour of dawn. 



16 



Ere the last gentle breeze 

From the South Seas have passed 
To stir but a leaf 

Or a green blade of grass. 

As a lake in a quiet forest glade reflects 

The scene that Nature made 
From the trees and ferns and flowers bright 

To the stately mountains' peaks all white. 

Each one alike, from the mountain peak 
To the tiny flower, reflects in the deep 

Its own true self, in the quiet calm 

Of the beautiful lake in the summer morn. 

And thus, Dear Father, would I the same, 

Reflect myself, in Thy real name, 
True to nature in every part, 

With just pure love to rule my heart. 

Not on the waves of emotion wild, 

But trust as a calm and gentle child, 
Faithful and kind as a wife and mother, 
True in my soul to my sisters and brothers. 

Obedient ever to Nature's will 
Just like the beautiful waters still 

Reflects the forms of the mountains and trees, 
Ne'er a leaf was marred by a passing breeze. 

Or a cloud lias swept the rosy sky 

And hid the crest of the mountain high, 
And this is my prayer from day to day 
As the moments come and pass away. 

That the calm in my soul 

That I love best, 
Will rock me forever 

On Nature's Breast. 



17 



MY ANSWER. 

A sweet sister asked me in kindness one day, 

If I'd heard how they talked of a friend o'er the way. 

And meekly I hung down my innocent head, 
And told her I knew not a word they said. 

But I thought that one going as oft as you do, 
Some, if not all, of the scandal you knew. 

A.nd quickly I answered her back with a smile, 
The bird flies forth daily o'er many a mile, 

But when it lights down it is careful and neat, 
To not carry off any soil on its feet, 

To burden its soaring and hinder its flight, 

Back to the nest where it rests through the night. 

And thus I go forth in the soul life to feed, 
On the thoughts and the things that my spirit must 
need. 

Like the bee that sips honey from each open flower, 
And carries it with it through sunshine and shower. 



Back to the home it has builded so well, 
To hold its sweet burden in cell after cell. 



Caring not what all the other bees do, 
Just so it rounds out each cell sweet and true. 

That nature has taught it so well how to make, 
If only the best from the flowers it will take. 



18 



LIFE AFTER DEATH. 

Life after death — is it sunshine or shade, 

Is it what God hath given, or what man hath made? 

I have listened to catch every sound from Life's sea, 
And this is the answer that was wafted to me. 

By the Angels of Light from the bright spheres above, 
That life after death is the essence of love. 

Garnered up from the deeds we have done upon earth 
And saved for the soul at its spiritual birth. 

To help speed it upward and onward for aye, 
Through the laws of progression and life's endless day. 

That is open alike to the children of earth 
Regardless of name, or nation, or birth. 

Where the lessons we learn when the spirit is free, 
Will grow brighter with love through eternity. 

As little by little we find that all good 

In the realm of the spirit is true brotherhood. 

Endowed with a wisdom, so noble and grand 

Your light will descend from the bright spirit land, 

And whisper to mortals tender and low, 
That life after death is w T here they will grow 

The fruits of the spirit, loving and kind 
And bless and be blessed by all of mankind. 

Unconscious of aught but the fact that we live 
Beyond the dark grave, and have power to give 

Praise to the Father of Wisdom above 
That our growth, and our gladness, must come through 
our love. 



19 



FRIENDSHIP'S FLOWER. 

Tribute to Senator Mitchell. 

On the form of our Senator, old and gray, 
A simple white flower in pity I lay, 
Amid the blossoms, rich and rare, 
Others had sent to cover his bier. 

And I ask of the angels in that hour 

To bless with love my little flower, 

And whisper to him when they meet in heaven, 

That my spotless flower to him was given. 

In memory of the days gone by, 
When no cloud of suspicion darkened his sky. 
And now to earth's sorrow he is dead, 
No cloud shall rest on his honored head. 

For love will roll them all away, 

And the sun will break forth in endless day, 

Over friendship's lovelit sky 

As we feel his gentle spirit nigh. 

And our memory lingers long and sweet 

Over the time when we shall meet, 

And walk together on that shore 

Where grief and parting will come no more. 

And the little white flower that in pity I lay 
Upon his silent form today, 
Is for those that could not understand 
The noble soul of such a man, 

Who worked in love for all he knew, 

Strong and steadfast, brave and true, 

As he climbed, as it were, from the very ground 

Until he reached the topmost round, 

Where he ever reached down with love's magical power 
To pluck and cherish sweet friendship's flower. 



20 



DO WE REAP WHAT WE SOW? 

They tell us each day that we reap what we sow. 
Now tell me, I pray, when it ripens to mow. 
And if wheat is the symbol of our daily deed, 
Who cares for the chaff and who garners the seed ? 

I have pondered quite often this question, my friends, 
And I trust that some wise one their counsel will lend, 
And help solve this problem that I do not know, 
Of when and how much do we reap what we sow? 

What becomes of the chaff and the straw that must 

grow 
To strengthen the grain ere it's ready to mow? 
Is the grief in our hearts, the sorrow and pain 
Just the chaff and the straw, or the real ripened grain? 

Is the pleasure we oft times so long to live in 
The straw in the stack or the grain in the bin? 
The one that can answer my question aright 
Will throw on my pathway a much-needed light. 

To aid me in seeing how much that is sweet 
Is the chaff I should burn or the wheat I should eat 
To strengthen my limbs for the journey ahead, 
When sifting out wheat for my heavenly bread. 



SWEET GRATITUDE. 

The fairest flower that blooms in the human heart, 
Tell me, I pray you, where you grow, 
For I've searched and found you not. 
In the places where I thought you grew. 
I've worked and searched the long years through 
For just a tiny bud or stem, growing in the breasts of 
men. 



21 



And sometimes I sit me down and weep, 

For I've searched o'er hill and mountain steep, 

And have never shirked a duty, 

Where I thought your blossoms, sweet and rare, 

Bloomed for every human heart, 

That takes a true and honest part, 

And sends out love to every one, 
From early morn to set of sun. 
For, in the sunshine and in the rain, 
We love sweet gratitude the same. 
I care not where that soul may be, 
He is never from thy magic free. 

For that rare flower doth sweeten life, 

And soften all its toil and strife. 

And if there blooms no flower for me on land, 

I find it in the sea, on some fair island far away 

That my frail bark may reach some day, 

And from that isle I bring some seed, 

And plant it for- the soul's great need, 
And raise its blooms sweet and rare, 
And wreath them into garlands fair, 
To cheer the lonely on their way, 
And strengthen them from day to day, 
For here on earth each soul doth need 
The flowers that grow from that rare seed. 



THE ROSY DAWN. 

Dear friends, if I stood before you, 
Robed in garments of white, 

With a radiant crown of wisdom, 
Shedding its golden light 

Far down o'er the coming ages 

And back o'er the years that are gone, 

I would ask you to lift your faces 
To catch the Rosy Dawn 



22 



Of life and light and beauty 

In an era born of joy, 
Through the wisdom, hope and knowledge 

Brought from the world on high. 

By the spirit of man in his freedom, 
By the soul on its ownard march, 

Bearing the healing balm of love 
To soothe the wounded heart. 



For this is the glorious mission 
Of the angels from on high, 

That comes with sweet compassion 
To dry the tear-dimmed eye. 

Nor lingers not in the shadows 

Till hope and joy depart 
With just a little word of faith 

To fill the empty heart. 

Oh, countless tears of sorrow, 
With your endless tale of woe, 

Why did ignorance tarry so long 
And make us suffer so? 

Where were the white-robed angels 

In all the ages past? 
How did they come to hear our cry 

And come to our home at last, 



And rap to gain admittance, 

And linger by our side, 
To whisper words of comfort 

When some dear one has died, 

And make us know that living 

Is not confined to the form, 
But death is the birth of the soul of man 

To life's eternal morn. 



23 



And so we have met together 

To celebrate the hour 
When the world awoke to the knowledge 

Of a mighty spirit power 

That is rolling away the darkness 

That covered the sea and land 
And is parting the veil that we may see 

The ever-beckoning hand. 

Of love that is greater than darkness, 
Is greater than sorrow or night, 

And she waits long at the portals 
To let in the golden light 

Of truth o'er the field of knowledge 

So none need wander alone, 
Crying for bread when our hopes seemed dead, 

And ever receiving a stone, 

In place of the sweet assurance 

That spirit and life are one 
And we only lay down our bodies 

When our earthly work is done. 

And take up a larger mission 

Of drying the mourners tear, 
Of giving them hope and comfort, 

Oif giving them joy and cheer. 

Like we feel today dear pilgrims, 

Brothers, sisters, and all 
As o'er our heads in gentle love 

Their benedictions fall. 



24 



For' meeting and greeting each other 

On this anniversary day, 
When the angels of light, to dispel the night 

Rolled the stone away 

From the graves of all our loved ones 

In all the ages past, 
That the Rosy Dawn of the glad new morn 

Might break o'er the world at last. 



THE CALL OF THE DREAMER. 

The call of the dreamer. O ! list, do you hear 
How it rolls down the ages and falls on the ear, 
In tones loud as thunder, yet clear as a bell, 
The history of life's earnest workers to tell. 

For the call of the dreamer is not what it seems 
Just fancy and fiction and bright fairy scenes, 
Of fields white with lillies and the hill sloping sod ; 
As fair as the sunshine with bright golden rod. 

But the call of the dreamer in ages gone by 
Was a call to the warriors to conquor or die ; 
Was a call to the heroes, though many were slain ; 
In the dark field of battle to heed not its pain. 

But to keep ever floating above the brave dead, 
The purpose for which all the warm blood was shed; 
This call of the dreamer of ages long gone, 
Is written in story and chorused in song; 

And painted by artist for every great scene; 
Put upon canvas, first lived as a dream, 
In the mind of the artist ere the colors and shades 
Were touched with the brush and the great pictures 
made. 



25 



And thus in the present as in the great past, 
The things that will live, and forever shall last, 
First came as a shadow, a dream of the mind ; 
To bless and uplift, and redeem all mankind. 

Like the world's soul communion what mind could 

have seen, 
The strength of its mission, except as a dream, 
As vague as a shadow and dim to the eye 
As the bright golden sun when clouds fill the sky. 

And yet round and round, the broad earth it has run 
Warming the hearts like the rays of the sun 
Kisses the dew on the sweet summer flower; 
And melts its way in the fresh morning hours. 

Silent and sweet, earnest and true, 

Is the voice of the dreamer calling to you ; 

To fields that are vernal and heights yet untrod, 

Guiding and leading our souls unto God. 

For beyond all the sorrows and trials of today 
We have our great Tolstoy pointing the way; 
To a time that is now, but a dream of the mind, 
And yet it will come to the lives of mankind 

If each will go forth without any fear, 
When the call of the dreamer falls on the ear; 
To work in the vineyard as all workers should, 
With an unselfish love for a true brotherhood. 

For all that has come to this great world of thine 
To bless it, first lived as a dream in the mind; 
An ideal, a picture, a light on the hill 
That we in our wisdom may fill out at will. 



26 



THE POSTMAN'S WHISTLE. 

Oftimes I think, in the silence 
Of the grand old Liberty Bell. 

Of the wonderful story of freedom 
Its mighty tongue could tell. 

And I love in the Summer's twilight, 

Nature's sacred hour, 
To hear the silvery church bells 

Speak of a higher power. 

And I love the grand old organ, 
When its music floats along, 

Melting the voice like sunbeams 
Into the holy song. 

Sweet music of earth and heaven, 
In the spheres beyond the sky, 

You fill my heart with pleasure, 
And lift my soul on high. 

Though high and holy your mission, 
Though grand and noble the thought, 

You melt like snow in the sunshine, 
You sink into life as naught. 

When we hear the sharp, quick whistle 

Of the postman on his way, 
Spreading sunshine and shadows 

Patiently day by day. 

For I care not what their nature, 

Their color or their creed, 
They love that kind of music, 

And its sound they gladly heed. 



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And when I enter the portals 
Of heavenly joy and bliss, 
The soul-stirring sound of their whistle, 

I know that I shall miss. 
For of all the stories of heaven 

I have read or ever heard, 
Of the grand old army of postmen 

They have never breathed a word. 



The foregoing poem after appearing in a daily 
paper, called forth the following postal card: 



Cleveland, Ohio, June 4, 1904. 
Dear Madam. 

Your poem in the Postal Record, of June, was 
very nice, all but the last part of it, you say you will 
miss the soul-stirring sound of the postman's whistle, 
when you enter the portals of Heavenly joy and bliss. 
Do you not think there will be letter carriers in 
Heaven, and are you just dead sure you will squeeze 
through the portals yourself, or if we go there do 
you think we will leave our whistles here? 
Yours, W. E. Boynton, 
Carrier No. 289, Cleveland, Ohio. 



REPLY TO THE POSTMAN. 

Forgive me Mr. Postman 
If you deem what I have said, 
That I would enjoy more heavely 
Bliss, than you when we are dead. 



28 



But really in all my writing 
The truth I tried to tell, 
And not the slightest falsehood 
To make my verse look well. 

And of all the stories of heaven 
I've seen or heard about, 
I never heard of a postman 
Taking his daily route. 

And sounding his sharp whistle 
At the pure white palace door, 
Until it startled the Angels 
Along on the golden shore. 

Or seen a man with Angels Wings, 
That in the heavenly chair sings, 
Or heard that any man was there, 
The glory and bliss of heaven to share. 

But I did not make the other life, 
Or this one with its toil and strife, 
Or man would surely had a place 
With glory shining in his face 

And wings as large as any bird, 
That we of earth have seen or heard, 
For heaven would not be heaven to me 
If not a postman I could see. 

Or have my soul's sweet raptures stirred 
By the sweetest sound I ever heard, 
O'f your whistle in place of the golden 
Harp, that always takes the leading part. 



29 



ORIGIN OF MAN. 

This morning I took a journey 

Far back in Nature's field, 
And some of its hidden secrets 

Were unto my soul revealed. 

And I saw the form of spirits 

Descend upon the earth 
And clothe themselves with the mortal, 

And that was mankind's birth. 

But the world has called them Adam 

And sinful mother Eve, 
That let a snake beguile her 

And all mankind deceive. 

But we know those souls were sinless 
When they planted the tree of life 

Amid earth's dark surroundings 
Filled with Nature's strife. 

For Love in the life descending 

Upon the new-made earth 
Gave to the world its power 

To give unto all life its birth. 

And Eden is here in its beauty 

Inborn in every one, 
The same God-given spirit 

Since first life's force begun. 

Growing amid the brambles, 
Blossoming here and there, 

Out into full-grown spirits, 
Grand and wise and fair. 

Proving the God of Progress 
Is the father of us all. 
Leaving in doubt the story 
Of Adam's awful fall. 



30 



THE THOUGHTS I THINK O'ER MY DISH 
WORK. 

The thoughts I think o'er my dish work, 
While washing each dish sweet and clean, 

Might be prized by a weaver of patterns, 
To weave into a robe for a queen. 

For they bear in their tints glints of sunbeam, 

On a background of blue from the sky, 
With a star here and there in the distance 

Shining out from white clouds drifting by. 

And the Moon, with light turned to silver 

She borrowed one time from the Sun, 
Like the course of a clear swimming river, 

Thru all the fair pattern would run. 



And methinks that a flower from the hillside, 
And vine from the valley below, 

And a few fern gathered out of the woodland, 
Worked out on a border of snow. 



Would bear some faint trace of my thinking, 
While working in love for my own ; 

In doing the things that are needful, 
In pleasure, for those in the home. 



For it keeps not my feet from ascending 
To heights yet untrod by the world ; 

Or the banner of truth in my being 
To all fair breezes unfurled. 

And I stand on the mount so transfigured, 
While yet my poor feet press the sod ; 

That the voice of all nations seems speaking, 
One word, and that sweet word is: God. 



31 



MY DAILY LIFE. 

Amid this world of toil and care, 

I plucked sweet blossoms from the sky 

And filled my vases to the brim 

With flowers that ne'er on earth can die; 

And when I meet a friend that knows 
And loves the place where my flowers grow, 
I gladly give them from my vase, 
For others will come to fill their place; 

That breathe to us of worlds on high 
Where Angels dwell, and from the sky 
They come to us, with words so sweet, 
Thev are to our souls both bread and meat. 



MY PRAYER AND ITS ANSWER. 

I cried aloud to the raging sea, 

To send the Angel of Peace to me, 

And I moaned one night to the desert sand, 

That One might lead me by the hand. 

I whispered one morn, on my bended knee, 
That the blessings around ; my eyes might see, 
When lo ! a voice from across the sea 
And the desert sands spoke sweetly to me; 

And said, my child cry out no more, 
For the Angel of Peace is at thy door. 
And he will daily unseal thy eyes 
To sweeter thoughts and greater joys. 

As long as thou made so wise a choice 
And asked it meekly in humble voice 
That thou thy daily blessings might see 
My child ; thy prayer shall set thee free. 



32 



Free to love God ; and free to love man, 
And all the lessons understand. 
The Angels of Light will bring to thee 
As daily the blessings of life you see. 



THE CROWN OF MOTHERHOOD. 

I saw a crown descending 

For some saint or holy one, 

I thought; for the jewels in that crown 

Shone brighter than the sun. 

And I asked the Angels bearing it 
Who was so holy and good 
As to win such a crown 
As they brought down. 

And they answered it is "Motherhood," 
As they meekly bowed before me, 
And laid it at my feet, 
And said in accents soft and low, 

Like silver bells so sweet, 
That all through the countless ages 
The Angels had worked on this, 
To make it shine as brightly 

As the love in a mother's kiss ; 

And now they were loath to bring it, 

Feeling they needed more time 

To have it reflect the glory of Motherhood divine. 



THE WORLD OF SPIRIT LIES ALL AROUND 



They tell us the world of Spirit 

All around us lie, 
And if we keep on growing 

We will sense it bye and bye. 



33 



That we need not take a journey 

Across the River Styx, 
And alike with beggar from hovel 

And a King from his palace mix. 

That we need not take the journey, 
That seems so lonely and long, 

In order to catch the music 
Of Life's Eternal Song. 

But that here, and now, in this body, 

We say is made of clay; 
We can feel the joy of the spirit 

And hear the songs they play. 

That heaven with all its glory 

Is not beyond the sky; 
But here in this soul and spirit 

Is the heaven for you and I. 

And that all around and about us, 

Is a beautiful sea of Love, 
That has no bottom to measure, 

No width or heighth above. 

Where no ill can enter and harm us, 
For none can find the gate, 

That has his eyesight darkened 

With the shadows of envy and hate. 

So let's try and sense its glory, 
From near, and not from afar, 

And oft we may catch its beauty, 
When the gates are a little ajar; 

And we may hear the echo 

Of the Angel's lovelight song; 

And in the joy of the spirit 
Carry the music along. 



34 



THE BITTER WITH THE SWEET. 



My husband was home from work last week, 
And that to me is always a treat; 
For he is so gentle, loving and kind 
And likes to help, to ease my mind. 



So we put the bedding all out to air, 
And fixed up the rooms we had to spare, 
And worked upstairs, till everything 
Was as neat and tidy as a pin. 



Then to the kitchen we hied our way, 
To put in what was left of the day ; 
For everything else in the house was fixed, 
Without the slightest bit of a hitch. 



Then I slipped away for a little while 
With a happy smile, 

Thinking how nice it was to be quiet, and calm 
As a beautiful lake on a sweet summer morn ; 



And with my mind and heart the same, 
I returned to my work in the kitchen again; 
Where my husband had stayed, while I was gone, 
And most of the work in my absence had done. 



For there on the wall, all neat and clean, 
Hung the pan I'd had my jelly in; 
And I asked, in a voice that was strangely low 
Where is my jelly, I'd like to know? 



He spoke, calm as a summer breeze, 
That hardly stirs the leaves of the trees; 
And he said — while I suppressed a scream: 
"There was no jelly that I have seen." 



35 



While I cried: "Speak quickly to me, man! 
I had it cooking in that pan." 
And he said : "Oh, now that I come to think, 
I poured that stuff out into the sink." 



IN THE SILENCE OF THE SOUL. 



Oh! how bright is my brightest vision, 
How fair is the fairest scene, 

How sweet is the scent of the roses, 
I see, in the golden dreams, 

That fell on my soul, in the silence — 
The silence so holy and sweet ; 

That the joy of all ages seems o'er me, 
And around me, to make life complete. 

And I feel that my soul is its Savior, 
My spirit, the council and guide, 

That teaches me how in the silence 
Of love, I may ever abide, 

Secure from the storms that sweep o'er us, 
Secure from the sorrow and pain 

That falls on the soul in life's turmoil, 
Like a tempest of wild wind and rain. 

For the value of silence, Oh! Father; 
No spirit or mortal can know, 

Except what we see in all nature, 

How in silence all the bright flowers grow. 

In silence the hills and the valleys 

Are clothed in their garments of green, 

And in silence the bright sun of glory 
Floods all, with a soft golden sheen, 



36 



And whispers at morn, to the dew-drops: 
"Come back to your home in the sky," 

While I silently kiss every blossom 

With the sunshine of love from on high. 



THE GOLDEN THRONE. 

I have a little golden throne 
Where all my loved ones sit, 
And when the lights are all turned down, 
I softly and quietly slip over to them, 
And do you know, I can see by the light they shed 
Just where to place my laurel wreaths gently upon 
their heads. 

They never know I am near them, I come so very still ; 

But if they knew the love in my heart 

Their very being would thrill 

With the blessings of joy and gladness, 

Of love, and hope, and peace ; 

I ask the Angels to bring them 

In the leaves of my laurel wreaths. 



37 



AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER? 

Am I my brother's keeper? My mind hath often asked. 
And when my soul awakened it quickly answered, yes! 
And showed me in a thousand ways, 
The part our thoughts and actions play. 

If we be strong and brave and true, 
It helps some one to be that, too. 
If we be strong and true and brave, 
Who knows how many souls we save? 

If we keep this spark of God divine 
Burning brightly, brother mine, 
It would light some one upon the way, 
Whose feet some downward path might stray. 

We cannot see, we cannot know 
How much we help each other grow, 
But in the ages yet to be 
It will be shown to vou and me. 



THE LIGHT THAT SHINES FROM AFAR. 

Oh! Ye shepherd of far-off Egypt, that watch your 
flocks by night, 

Tell us of the glories and wonders of that light 

That must have lit the sky that day; 
To make it shine so far away, 

That we on the western shores of time, 
Can clearly see its light divine, 



38 



And try to walk in its golden ray, 
Of truth and love from day to day. 

As it leads us close to the little child, 
Whose nature was loving, sweet and mild. 

Whose glory now fills the earth and sky 
As we feel His loving presence nigh. 

With peace on earth and good will to man, 
Sounding in every clime and land; 

Echoing forth from mountain and plain; 
And then returning to us again ; 

Laden with the heart's best love, 
To lift our souls to realms above 

The thought; that pomp and pride and any earthly 

gain 
Can come to us through the precious name 

Of the Christ, that spoke to man and said, 
"I have not where to lay my head ; 

But the Father and I have ever been one ; 

Since first the creation of life begun; 
Since first the light was on sea and land ; 



39 



And unto Him all praise is given 
For the glory that fills all earth and heaven.' 



MY BLESSING. 

This morning I sat in the silence, 

With my hand uplifted in prayer; 
And there came a vision before me, 

Of a scene so bright and fair, 
I scarce could breathe for a moment, 

Or dared to touch my pen ; 
E'er the vision would vanish from me, 

And never return again. 

And the memory now is so hallowed, 

I scarce can write it down ; 
Or disturb that sacred silence 

With the stifled earthly sound. 
For as I sat in the silence 

With my hands uplifted in prayer 
I saw a band of angels 

Plucking flowers so fair; 

That the dewdrops in the lilly 

Seemed as spots in the mellow light, 
Near the flowers the angels brought me; 

So spotless was their white. 
And they wove them into a garment 

Of fragrance, soft and sweet. 
And placed it around my shoulders, 

And it fell in folds around my feet. 

And on each flower was written 

Some good that I had done ; 
In sending out my blessing 

To each and every one, 



-iO 



For that is the work of the angels 

The silent work of the soul, 
And that is the way their garments 

Grow white in every fold. 

By sending out a Messing 

To the children of earth below ; 
And helping them in the knowledge 

Of love and peace to grow 
And the lining was rainbow-tinted 

Like the bow of promise o'er head ; 
Saying the flood was over 

Of tears, that I have shed. 

Of hopes that had long since vanished 

Because I need them not; 
For the angels knew if granted, 

My garments would bear the spot 
And the blessings that seem so hallowed, 

When in the soul-life I live; 
If tarnished, by selfish desire; 

To others, I could not give. 

And the silence I felt around me, 

So hallowed, so holy and sweet, 
That I scarce could breathe for their presence 

E'er the vision from me would sweep, 
Would ne'er be mine in the morning; 

As at the set of sun, 
If I did give my blessing 

To each and every one. 



41 



THE REWARD. 

To the true and the brave, the fair goddess gave 

Treasures from ever)' land. 
As a balm to the heart, for the soul's faithful part, 

In the trials they did withstand. 

For she said as she bowed to the true and the brave; 

"Ye have tested the strength of the soul ; 
And nothing is lost, neath the weight of 5'our cross, 

But the dross; and the rest is pure gold." 



INSPIRATION. 



Through inspiration's glorious light, 
Whose rays shot forth a gleam so bright, 
That by its glow my eyes could see 
The road to all soul's liberty. 




It is by walking hand in hand, 
By mountain streams or desert sand, 
Through sun-kissed valleys, or the sea 
Whose waves cry out, "sweet liberty." 

Nor pause to ask consent of man 
To dash their waves upon the sand 



42 



For who but God hath power to free 
The waves in such grand liberty. 

And thus the mind and thought can soar 
Out into space from shore to shore 
And wash its waves upon the sand 
Of golden truth, through love for man, 

Until there is no space above, 
Around, beneath, that is not love, 
No power but spirit anywhere 
That covers the earth and fills the air. 

For spirit is life and life is love, 
And this is the light that shines from above 
To illume the path of the children of God 
As hand in hand through life we trod. 

Oh, lift your souls to the sphere above 
Where they live in the spirit of perfect love 
And down upon your hungry hearts 
They will pour such love that life will start. 

To grow within your love-kissed breast 
And overflow- all the rest 
Until there is no border line 
And everything will seem divine. 



43 



And God will whisper in your ear, 
"That perfect love will cast out fear 
And know I have no choice in thee 
But in my love all souls are free." 

Free as the stars in yon heavenly sky, 
Free as the breezes passing by, 
Free as the waves upon the beach, 
Whose power a lesson from God doth teach. 

For by that great Eternal light 
That in my soul doth burn so bright; 
I know that love is all of life 
Though tasting of its toil and strife, 

Or basking in the golden light of day, 
That has no clouds in sight; 
And now, while writing 'neath the power 
Of inspiration's holy hour; 

My soul goes out to every mind, 
With thoughts so true, so sweet and kind 
That angels might come here to live; 
And have no sweeter love to give. 

For angelhood, my precious one, 
Is made up from this central sun 



44 



Of love; the essence of all life, 
That knows no sorrow, pain or strife. 

That radiates a force so fine 
It penetrates the inner mind, 
And makes us conscious of a life 
That's free from mortal toil and strife. 

Where Justice sits upon the throne, 
And reigns as King and King alone ; 
And at his side, a fair young Queen 
Of Love, can evermore be seen. 

And in this Kingdom of the Soul, 
With Love as Queen ; we ne'er grow old, 
But heart to heart, and hand in hand, 
We make this life the summer-land. 

We grow its fruits all rich and rare, 
And give to each a brother's share 
And thus we lead him day by day 
Into truth's clean, broad highway. 



45 



NOW. 

I know not the day or the hour, 
That shadows may darken my way; 

But I know that the spirit of love 
Has filled me with sunshine today. 

I know not the day nor the hour, 

When sharp thorns may pierce my lone feet; 

But I know that the present will hold 
Ever, some thoughts that are sweet. 

I care not what lies in the past, 

Or what the veiled future may hold ; 

It's the present, I'm living for now 
And the image of love I must hold. 

With thoughts that are pure 

As the stars that shine in heaven's own blue, 
And sparkle like diamonds at night, 

To let the Lord's glory shine through. 

And thus, I'm living the Now, 

Regardless of future or past; 
And putting in thoughts that are sweet 

With love that forever shall last. 



46 



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